Born Under a Blond Sign Page 10

  I turned to see Brigit getting out of her car.

  She crossed the parking lot to me. “I saw an ambulance pull out of here. I was freaked. I was afraid you went to go see Derek O’Shaunessy again, and that he put you in the hospital this time.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I wanted to give her hell about thinking I’d taken on Derek by myself, but she was right. It was the kind of crazy thing I’d do. Just because he’d beaten me up twice didn’t mean that I couldn’t get the drop on him this time.

  “So, was it anyone we knew?”

  I made a face. “Kitty Richards?”

  Brigit’s eyes got big. “Oh my God. The ASPCA took her dog away, and the grief was too much for her. It’s all your fault, Ivy.”

  “No,” I said. “She came by the other day to tell me that the ASPCA didn’t take the dog, and that she knew it was me that called them. But then she got mad and had a pretty bad coughing fit. It probably is my fault. I was never nice to that lady. Never once.”

  Brigit looked contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  But I didn’t respond, because I’d just realized something. “The dog’s still up in her apartment.”

  “What?”

  “The dog. She’s up there all alone. She’s probably scared out of her mind. She has no idea what’s going on. I’ve got to go get her.”

  “Ivy,” said Brigit. “You can’t steal that woman’s dog. Not when she’s been taken off in an ambulance.”

  “Not stealing it,” I said. “I’m just offering some friendly neighborly help. That’s all.”

  * * *

  Brigit may have protested a lot about the dog, but once I got the little fur ball down there, she showed her true colors. She loved the dog. She scratched the little thing behind her ears and under her chin and cooed to her in a little voice.

  “Don’t call her Fluffy,” I admonished.

  “Why not?” said Brigit. “That’s her name, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a terrible name,” I said. “I’m sure the dog hates it.”

  Brigit rolled her eyes.

  I thought about telling her about how dogs deserved our respect since we had selectively bred all the wild out of them for thousands of years, but I didn’t think Brigit would quite get it. Not because she was stupid or anything—she was really smart—but just because she wasn’t on that wavelength.

  So, I just went back to my office and stared at my computer screen for a while.

  I remembered that I needed a dress, and that I’d intended to go run out and get one today while I was at the office. But now the dog was here.

  I went back out to where Brigit and the dog were playing.

  “I need to go out for an hour or so,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll come with you.”

  “No, you need to stay here with the dog,” I said.

  “Seriously? It’s not even our dog. You stole this dog.”

  “All the more reason to make sure nothing happens to her,” I said. “Look, it’ll be boring. You aren’t missing anything.” And I left before she could argue with me any further.

  I went to a store in the mall and managed to buy a dress.

  It took a lot longer than I had anticipated, however, due to my stupidity in putting too much pressure on myself. I wanted to blow Miles away, to be stunning. If I’d just wanted to look good, it would have been easily doable. But because I had such high expectations, it made it all that much more difficult.

  I kept second-guessing myself. I would try on a dress, think that it looked good, and then try on the next one I brought, and think that it looked good too. Were they equally good? Was one better than the other?

  I really wished I’d brought Brigit along, so that I could have another opinion. Someone to help me narrow things down. It would have been very helpful.

  I even thought about texting her pictures of myself in the dresses and asking her which one she liked better. But I didn’t think I could do that, because I thought she’d be really pissed if she found out I made her babysit the dog while I went to buy dresses.

  Anyway, I was gone for hours.

  But eventually, I forced myself to make a decision. I wasn’t positive that the dress I chose was the best one, but I had to pick something. It was black with criss-cross straps in the back. It came just past my knee. I figure it was really versatile, and I could wear it again to something else—if I ever needed a dress again, that was.

  Then I headed back to the office, where I fully expected Brigit to be pissed at me, and never let me hear the end of it. I was thinking that I should just tell her where I’d been. Maybe she’d understand. And then I was thinking that I needed to give her an update on Kent Mercer, and I wondered if Eden had found anything else out, and I should probably give her a call.

  But when I got into the office, there was a woman I didn’t know standing there.

  She was portly, about my age, but several inches shorter than me. She had a dog’s leash in her hands.

  “Ivy,” said Brigit, when I came in. “This is Kitty’s niece Melissa.”

  “Hi,” I said, offering her my hand.

  Melissa shook hands with me. “Thanks for leaving that note up there. If I hadn’t found it, I would have thought the dog was missing.”

  Note? I didn’t leave a—

  “Not a problem,” said Brigit. She smiled at me. “Well, we wouldn’t have just taken the dog without letting someone know where she was.”

  Sneaky Brigit. She must have done it when I wasn’t paying attention.

  “You came for the dog?” I said. I was a little bit sad that she had, I realized. I had been looking forward to seeing the furry girl again when I got back from the store. Now, she was going to be taken away.

  “Yes,” said Brigit. “It’s very sad. Kitty has, well…”

  “My aunt passed away a few hours ago,” said Melissa. “I’m in charge of getting the dog.”

  “Where are you going to take her?” I said. “Oh, I’m, um, really sorry to hear about Kitty. That’s terrible. What happened to her?”

  “She had chronic obstructive pulmonary disease,” said Melissa. “She’d been sick for a while.”

  “Oh wow, I had no idea,” I said.

  “Yeah, she was very active still,” said Melissa. “She didn’t seem ill.”

  “I’m very sorry,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Brigit.

  “Thanks,” said Melissa.

  We were quiet for a minute.

  “So, um, what’s going to happen to the dog?” I said. “Are you going to take her?”

  “Me?” said Melissa. “Oh, no. I’m not really a dog person. I guess we’ll take her to the shelter.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling deflated. Of course, that was basically what was going to happen to her if the ASPCA had taken her, so I guessed it shouldn’t really bother me. “You should take her to one of those no-kill shelters. If anything happened to that dog, I’d feel—”

  “What Ivy means is that she understands it’s none of her business what you do with the dog,” said Brigit, glaring at me. “And we’re so sorry to be talking about something so trivial in the face of your loss.”

  That wasn’t what I meant at all, but Brigit sure had scolded me. I didn’t say anything else.

  Melissa held up the leash she was holding. “Well, um, I guess I should be going.”

  “Sure,” said Brigit. “Here, Fluffy.”

  I winced.

  But the dog bounded over, her tongue hanging out of her mouth, grinning.

  At least she wouldn’t be trapped inside a tiny bathroom anymore.

  But honestly, I was a little sorry to see her go.

  * * *

  I put on the black dress I’d gotten for Miles’s family dinner, and I realized that I’d completely forgotten about shoes. I couldn’t believe what an idiot I was. I was stuck with two options. The first? A pair of scuffed patent leather ballet flats that I’d owned since I was a senior i
n high school. They were simple black dress shoes, and I’d worn them for weddings, funerals, and every event under the sun for over fifteen years. But they weren’t in the best of shape. Still, the other option wasn’t much better. It was a pair of four-inch high heeled boots. I’d gotten them for a costume of some kind. I didn’t much like high heels. They were always uncomfortable, no matter what I did, and I couldn’t stand wearing them. These were incredibly high, and I’d bought them for the shock value, to be larger than life. The last time I wore them, though, I think I made it about twenty minutes before I took them off and went around barefoot for the rest of the night.

  I put them on.

  They made me look like a street walker, and they took the simple elegance out of my dress.

  The boots were definitely out.

  But the flats were so scuffed.

  They looked terrible.

  I agonized over this for quite some time. I didn’t have time to go out and buy a pair of shoes. There was no place in Keene that sold that kind of thing. There was a Dollar General just outside of town, but I wouldn’t find anything there. They might have some casual shoes, like flip flops and sneakers, but I didn’t think they’d have anything appropriate.

  I did have another pair of dress shoes. They were strappy sandals, and they would have been perfect.

  But they were navy blue.

  I couldn’t wear navy blue shoes with a black dress.

  I tried them on anyway, thinking that maybe they’d look black enough with the expanse of my legs between the hem of the skirt and the shoes.

  They didn’t look black at all.

  I took them off.

  I briefly tried to find another dress that would work and would match the navy blue sandals.

  I didn’t have another dress, though. I already knew that. I tried two or three things on, and they were all either too small or too Mardi Gras, and I threw them on the floor.

  I put on the black dress again. It was gorgeous. I looked amazing.

  And then, sighing, I put on the scuffed flats.

  I didn’t have any shoe polish, but I managed to dig out a black magic marker. I colored in the scuffs. They looked marginally better. I wondered if Miles’s father would make nasty comments about my shoes.

  I took off the flats and put on the boots.

  Ugh. He’d definitely say something about those.

  I took them off again.

  I put the flats back on. I looked in the mirror and tried to tell myself that no one would notice the scuffs and that no one would be looking at my shoes anyway.

  Then I checked the time.

  Shit. I’d wasted so much time on these stupid shoes that I was going to have to rush my hair and makeup. I ran into the bathroom and started wrestling with my hair, trying to get it up off my neck in something sophisticated but simple.

  Ten minutes later, I’d managed to get my hair into a French twist secured with lots of bobby pins. I’d gotten a bit of eyeliner and mascara on, some lipstick on my lips.

  And Miles was knocking on the door, so it would have to do.

  I ran out to answer it, feeling flustered. By that time, I’d completely forgotten about my desire to stun him. All I wanted to do was get through this horrible experience that I’d somehow gotten myself into.

  But when I opened the door, the expression on Miles’s face surprised me. He was stunned. He took me in, eyes widening. “Ivy, you look…”

  I smiled. It had all been worth it, suddenly. I didn’t even mind that I’d lost hours of time looking for a dress.

  He smiled too. “You’re beautiful.”

  I melted. He’d never said anything like that to me before, not even when we were dating. Miles wasn’t one to effuse.

  And then, of course, I ruined it. “My shoes are terrible,” I said, pointing at the flats.

  Miles squinted down at them. “They are a little scuffed, I guess.”

  * * *

  Miles’s family lived in a mansion. When he’d told me that his family had money, I’d assumed that he meant they had enough to pay for private detectives, not that they were filthy, stinking rich. This house looked like it spanned continents, it was so huge. It had wings, and it was three stories high. I kind of gaped at it, and Miles looked embarrassed.

  “I hate this,” he said. “Everything about this.”

  “I just had no idea,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, my family owns Quikslim.”

  I turned to him in shock. What? He had never told me this?

  “Among other things,” said Miles. “Just that’s the most recognizable name thing. I don’t talk about it, though. I tried to distance myself from the family a long time ago. It’s nothing to do with who I am. I got where I am on my own, without their help. They’re positively disgusted that I would be something as common as a police officer, trust me. I’m all but disowned.”

  I stared at Miles as if I was just seeing him for the first time. I couldn’t believe this. I had never had much of any idea about Miles’s family. He’d been very tight lipped about them while we were dating. Since I didn’t have much of a family, I had just assumed that he really didn’t either, and I’d never dug into it much. Now, however, I was realizing how wrong I’d been.

  We were met at the door by a maid, who offered to take our jackets, though neither of us had one. It was a warm spring evening. In fact, it felt like summer. The maid directed us in to the parlor where the family was having drinks before dinner.

  Miles took a deep breath, and then he grabbed my hand. “Thanks for doing this,” he said. “I really hope it’s not too horrible.”

  He led me into the parlor. The room was huge. It was tastefully decorated with some very uncomfortable-looking couches—which looked beautiful otherwise, of course. Perched on one of those couches was an older woman in a blue dress. Her hair was caught up in a bun on the top of her head and she was wearing a string of pearls. She looked up when we walked into the room. “Oh, Miles, hello, there you are.”

  “Hi there, Mother,” said Miles. “Mother, this is Ivy. Ivy, my mother.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, wondering if I should cross the room to shake her hand. But Miles was still holding on to me, so I couldn’t go anywhere.

  “Well, you really did bring her along,” said the voice of Miles’s father. We turned to see him, standing next to the drink cart. There was another younger man with him, who looked like Miles, only a bit younger. That must be his brother. His father continued, “I didn’t think you’d do it. I thought you’d exercise a bit of restraint, in light of everything that’s happened to this family. But I can see that, as usual, I have overestimated you.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, Father,” Miles said coolly.

  “I’m Calloway,” said the brother. “You can call me Cal.” He came over to shake my hand. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Miles,” said Cal, throwing his arms around his brother. “Good to see you.”

  Miles stiffened, but endured the hug.

  If Cal noticed that he was uncomfortable, he didn’t let on. He released his brother and turned back to me with a grin. He had grey eyes just like Miles. They were twinkling. “What can I get you to drink, Ivy?”

  I couldn’t help but like Cal. He seemed to be the warmest person in this entire mansion.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, looking at the intimidating drink cart.

  “Well, what would you normally have?”

  I blushed.

  Miles grinned. “She likes to drink this awful Miller beer.”

  I felt mortified.

  “Beer,” spoke up Miles’s mother. “Oh dear.”

  Miles put his arm around me, which made me feel much better. I didn’t think he’d ever voluntarily done that in the whole of our relationship. “Don’t worry, Ivy,” he said, smiling down at me. “We will show you what a real drink is like.”

  I let myself smile back. For a minute there, betwee
n the two brothers anyway, there seemed to be an air of typical family teasing.

  But then Miles’s father spoke up. “I’m afraid we won’t have time for that, unfortunately. You’re late, Miles, and we’ve got to start dinner.”

  “Late?” said Miles, dropping his arm away from me. “You told me that dinner was eight, drinks at 7:30.”

  “Drinks at seven, dinner at 7:30,” said his father. “It’s so typical for you not to pay attention and get everything quite wrong.”

  Miles squared his shoulders. “Well, I apologize. I was sure—”

  “You were wrong,” said his father again.

  Miles looked at his shoes.

  “Sometimes,” said his father, “I wonder if I didn’t dodge a bullet when you refused to go into the family business. I’d hate to have someone working for me who couldn’t keep straight what time dinner is.”

  “Really, dear,” said his mother, making a concerned face. “What were you thinking?”

  It was quiet for a second.

  Then Miles said, “I’m very sorry.”

  “Well, you’re our son, so of course we make allowances,” said his father. “Let’s go to the dining room, shall we?”

  Miles’s parents started out of the room.

  Miles grabbed Cal by the arm. “You told me eight.”

  “Did I?” said Cal. “Sorry.”

  Miles was furious.

  “Really, I’m sorry,” said Cal. “I thought I got the time right. I haven’t been able to focus nearly as well since Gil… Anyway, I’m sorry. Father’s been on my case about all kinds of mistakes at work this past week.”

  Miles dropped Cal’s arm, still fuming. “Fine, whatever.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Cal again.

  I put a hand on Miles’s arm, trying to calm him.

  But he recoiled from my touch as if I burned him.

  * * *

  Dinner was cold and formal. The food was delicious, artfully prepared and presented. I think I might have been the only person who ate much of it, however. I couldn’t help myself. It really was very, very good, and I didn’t get meals like that often. Besides, there wasn’t much to do besides eat. There was no lively dinner conversation.

  There was talk, but it all seemed a bit forced, and it was punctuated by long silences. Discussions of people they knew from the country club, that sort of thing. Miles’s mother talked about an invitation to a wedding that conflicted with a planned vacation to Martha’s Vineyard, and she wasn’t sure what she should do. Of course, it would be terribly rude to turn down the invitation, but it would be awfully inconvenient to cut short the vacation. Miles’s father weighed in, and they went over the nuances of that for some time, never actually coming to a conclusion.